


Gifts

by nelyonelyo



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, simple fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nelyonelyo/pseuds/nelyonelyo
Summary: Just a tiny little interaction with Maedhros and Fingon. Maedhros is tired of diplomacy stuff and Fingon just wants to spend time with him. You can take it as shippy or platonic, it works either way. Set in the early first age, about a year after his rescue. Context is he just got back from negotiations in Doriath.In concern to my other fits, this fits directly between/along with "King's Request" and "Maedhros in Doriath," but it's by no means a sequel/prequel.





	Gifts

Maedhros lay on his tent’s bed. Compared to those of Doriath, it was horrendously firm. Still, being King until recently, it was one of the more luxurious within the Noldor encampment. He didn’t mind it. In his left hand, he twirled a thin knife.

“May I come in?” spoke a voice from outside the thin wall. Fingon.

“You may,” he responded flatly.

Fingon let himself in through the makeshift door and walked over to his bed. “Ah, Nelyafinwe Maitimo Feanorian! Back from his fancy kingly business, I’ve heard!” He sat at the foot of the bed. “And how I’ve missed you!”

Maedhros smiled. “Fingon, you have no idea how dull it was. Every day I wished I was back here.”

“You know, after Helcaraxe, and what, what was that, forty years? I wouldn’t have thought a month would seem so long. But it did.”

“It certainly was a long month” he agreed. He spun the knife once more then set it down.

“How did the land rights bargaining go? Will we be permitted to live south of here? East of here? What did he say?”

“He told me he had to think it over. He’d send a messenger soon.”

Fingon flopped down across the bed in frustration. “ _StillI?_ A month wasn’t enough for him?”

“Apparently not,” Maedhros laughed. “He did seem pleased by our meeting, however, and I expect good news from him.”

“I don’t know what sort of king would ponder and discuss for a month and _still_ not be kind enough to give you an answer!”

“He was kind!” Maedhros protested. “Well, no, I’d say he’s not. I’ve met kinder men. But I’ve met worse as well. After all, he made much better negotiations than Angband!”

Fingon cringed at his mention of Angband. True, those “negotiations” were simply a lie leading to his capture, and perhaps Maedhros enjoyed the humor in it, but Fingon found it troubling.

“Oh, lighten up Findekano. I’m in one piece still!”

“Debatably. You still can’t move your arm, the nurse told me.”

“Do I need to?”

“I’m just worried. You should let yourself heal. Take it easier.”

Maedhros smirked.

“Don’t you give me that face! You _do_ need to let your arm rest. Please?”

“Anything for you, Finno…” he cooed mockingly.

Fingon laughed. “Knock it off!”

Maedhros chuckled gently as well. “Oh, concerning Doriath. He did not give me an answer, yes, but he granted me plenty of gifts.” He swung his legs off the bed and sat up. “Look, over there in that big bundle. I haven’t unwrapped it since I’ve gotten back.”

Fingon hurried over to the pile and undid the wrappings. Immediately beneath the layer of thick burlap he found a smooth bit of black silk. He held it up and it unfurled in front of him, extending to his entire height despite only being a few inches wide. “What is this?”

“It’s a scarf of some sorts. They use it in fashion or something. Good for wrapping around oneself.”

Fingon set the scarf aside and picked up a second item. It was a pale green lace shirt, almost turquoise in its coloring. He stuck his finger through a large gap in the lace. “Please tell me you wore this.”

“I did.”

He grinned and held it up against himself. “What sort of Doriath fashion is this? Formal dinner parties? It sure doesn’t cover much.”

“It’s good for when the weather is warm.”

Fingon ruffled through more clothes, then pulled out a small velvet bag. Inside of it was a long silver necklace. He ran it over his hand and through his fingers. “This must be incredibly valuable.”

“Not really. Many have them.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not valuable!” He put the necklace around his own neck. “Nelyo, you should really keep a mirror in here. I would love to see how I look in this.”

“You look positively idiotic.”

“Ha! Perfect then! I shall leave it on!”

Maedhros smiled. “It suits you better than myself. Keep it.”

“Deal. You have to wear that outrageous shirt, though!”

“Findekano, I’m trying to look like a King, not a harlot. I’m not wearing the shirt here. Besides, it’s far too cold.”

Fingon gasped slightly and paused. “Oh! Oh! That’s what I came in here for! I have a gift for you!”

“A gift? Really? Should I trust you…”

“Oh, shut up. Of course you should” Fingon bantered. “When have I ever proved untrustworthy?”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow at him.

“Whatever! It doesn’t matter! We missed your begetting day, since you were off in Doriath, and I wasn’t able to give the present to you then.”

“I don’t trust this.”

Fingon extended his hand to grasp Maedhros by his good shoulder. Maedhros recoiled.

“Please don’t touch me finno.”

“What? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He took Fingon’s hand and put it back on his shoulder. “See? I’m fine.”

Fingon lowered his hand away anyways. He walked back over to the door. “Close your eyes.”

“Now I _really_ don’t trust where you’re going with this.”

“Shut up. Just close your eyes.” Maedhros obliged. Fingon picked up a parcel he left by the door and walked it back over to the bed. With a creak of the thin mattress, he sat next to him and placed it in his hands. “Now, open them.”

Maedhros looked at what was in his hands. It was a large, furry thing bound together with a cord. “Is this a dead animal?”

“Undo the ribbon!”

The cord was hardly a ribbon, but Maedhros did not complain. He unfolded the pelt and found that, rather than a dead fox or the like, it was an enormous fur coat. He stroked it gently, enjoying the texture of it. Was it moose? Wolf? He did not know. He didn’t care. He held it against himself, embracing the warmth it brought, then wrapped it over his shoulders.

“Do you like it?” Fingon inquired eagerly.

“Oh…!” Maedhros did not say much, but rather buried his face into it.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

Though muffled by the coat, Maedhros let out a soft noise of approval.

“I know you’re always complaining about being cold. It was about time I fixed that. I know it’s nothing fancy, but I figured the fur would keep your warmer than embroidered cotton. We don’t have much cotton anyways. Fur is quite trending, actually. I have a coat myself, and-”

Maedhros reached over and pulled Fingon into a tight hug. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Fingon let himself melt under the warmth of Maedhros and his new coat. He didn’t bother complaining over how he shouldn't be using his shoulder.

“I missed you.”


End file.
